Dead In Its Tracks
by KKBELVIS
Summary: Bored? Looking for an adventurous story about a trio of hunters armed with machetes, traipsing through a misty, dark forest featuring lots of mosquitos, muskrats, giant snakes, poison ivy, rain, wind, lightning, mud, blood, and beer? Then this is that story. - Story complete in two chapters.
1. Chapter 1

DEAD IN ITS TRACKS

By: Karen B.

Summary: Bored? Looking for an adventurous story about a trio of hunters armed with machetes, traipsing through a misty, dark forest featuring lots of mosquitos, muskrats, giant snakes, poison ivy, rain, wind, lightning, mud, blood, and beer? Then this is that story.

Disclaimer: Not the owner.

Rated: Plenty of humor, hurt comfort and some gore. Language mild. Set in S-3 I picture.

**Because when they strike it can be that quick that if they're within range, you're dead, you're dead in your tracks. And his head weighs more than my body so it's WHACK! ~ Steve Irwin **

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Few people went looking for danger, but danger was exactly what the trio of hunters was looking for as they moved single file through the misty, dark forest.

The day was early and bright, yet the canopy overhead shading out the sun did little to stifle the heat. Daunting cypress trees towered over them like huge giants with unruly, shaggy hair. The smell of composting leaves mixed with dirt and water filled the air, the woods alive with a variety of animals: chipmunks, squirrels, and birds.

Bobby headed the tour, swinging his large machete back and forth along the soft, damp ground, cutting a footpath through the thick, overgrown vegetation. "We must be on the right track," he said, pointing to a large tree with a wide strip of orange paint circling its trunk. "That tree wasn't marked by Smokey the Bear. Those three missing land surveyors have been this way. Keep your eyes peeled now."

Sam and Dean went from observant to extremely alert.

"Rule of thumb on this hunt," Bobby called out over his shoulder to his boys trailing behind him, "Pull out all the stops…stay close… stay alert…stay alive." The older hunter swung his machete like a baseball bat, his duffel bag swinging right along with it. "Remember boys, the Sachamama may be hard of hearing, but is excellent at camouflage we could be walking over her right now."

"Yes, sir," Dean said glancing over his shoulder and frowning at his brother, Sam, who was lagging several yards behind him. Concerned by the large amount of space between them he called out, "Keep up with me, Sammy."

Sam tightened his grip on his machete and gave a curt nod, taking a few long, easy strides until he was within a few feet of Dean.

Satisfied, Dean turned back around, continuing to chop deeply into tree roots, swiping at marsh grass and hacking away at the prehistoric vines that were damn near immovable.

They'd been at it for miles. Their muscles near bursting as they searched for their prey, the air muggy and stifling, tee-shirts soaked with sweat, their bare arms bitten by mosquitos and scratched by thorny branches. Yet unflinchingly, all three hunters _whooshed_ and _swooshed_ and _splashed_ their way through the thick, moist undergrowth of the forest.

Tiny beads of perspiration dotted the edges of Sam's scalp and slipped down his face. He paused, machete at his side as he pulled a water bottle from his pack. He unfastened the lid with one hand and gulped down half the water, all the while his eyes surveying the area. Shadows flicked and drifted along the forest floor in waves, carving strange, grotesque, threatening shapes out of jutting rocks, lush green ferns, large moldy mushrooms, and the twisted trunks of trees making everything seem to come alive. Sam cocked his head slightly off to one side studying the movements trying to distinguish shadow from life. _How were they supposed to find this thing if it was that good at hiding?_ He capped the bottle and shoved it back in his pack.

Bobby suddenly slowed and began to walk backward, past Dean.

Dean stopped swinging; eyebrows pinched, looking over at Bobby as he passed by him, but stayed his ground. "What is it?" he asked anxiously.

Bobby seemed to be in his own world, listening to nothing but his inner self. He came to a standstill beside Sam and stooped to lay his machete at his feet, pressing a hand flat to the ground.

"Bobby?" Sam questioned, gazing down at him.

Bobby didn't answer. Just closed his eyes for a long time; his face tense and full of concentration, a man who knew the faintest change, knew the woods better than the inhabitants themselves.

Sam stood silent and ready.

"What's he got?" Dean's jaw muscle jumped in anticipation, machete now held high.

Sam shook his head. _No clue._

Dean drew in a few calming breaths. "Bobby?"

"No ground movement." Bobby dug around in the wormy soil, holding a cracked human skull in his hand. "But we must be getting close to the deaf, legless bitch." He wiggled the skull, sending globs of mud and several very plump and juicy night crawlers slithering out of its dry eye sockets. "Woodland animals sometimes get hold of the pieces parts and drag them off, but not far off. Balls!" Bobby dropped the skull to the ground and dusted off his hands. "Would have been the best bait in the lake."

Sam and Dean flicked each other a strange look.

"For fishin'," Bobby grouched, noticing their confusion.

The boys look didn't fade any.

"The worms…not the skull, idgits." Bobby retrieved his machete and stood, his back creaking and cracking as he did. "Double balls," he groaned.

The sudden high-pierced _Caw! Caw! Caw!_ startled all three hunters and they launched into battle stance like a finely oiled machine. Their feet shoulder width apart, knees slightly bent, weapons thrust out in front of them, and eyes focused on the beady-eyed blackbird perched on a log off to their right, a chunky piece of furry animal held under its bloody claws – most likely rabbit.

"Get a look at that," Bobby muttered, relaxing his stance.

The crow screeched in obviously aggravation at its meal being disturbed, and in a sudden rush of flapping wings took flight heading straight for Sam's head.

"Crap." Sam ducked as the crow swooped past, the dead rabbit – still in the crow's clutches – brushing past his ear.

"What the hell? " Dean glared in the direction the bird had flown.

"Corvus brachyrhynchos," Sam muttered, racking a hand through his hair.

Dean stared at Sam like he was nuts. "Like I asked before…what the hell?"

"It's the scientific name for crow," Sam dutifully pointed out.

"Dude," Dean screeched. "Why can't you just call it what it is?"

"Which would be?" Sam challenged.

"A shiny black bird some suicidal guy once wrote a poem about."

"Shut up," Sam tisked

"Nerd," Dean chuckled lightly, going back to cutting out a trail and taking the lead. "Besides we're not bird watching, Sam. We're Rikki Tikki Tavi watching. That's the Dean Winchester name for 'snake'," he explained. "And I know lots of poems about the slithering, slimy, scaly slippery bitches too," he needlessly pointed out with a snort.

"Knock it off, Dean." Sam visibly shuddered, tracking after him.

"Poor Sammy and his Oprah-phobia," Dean snorted.

"It's ophidiophobia, Dean," Sam huffed.

"You are seriously afraid of snakes, boy?" Bobby asked completely surprised, now bringing up the rear.

Red spots flared on Sam's cheeks with embarrassment. "And besides, Dean, Rikki-Tikki-Tavi was a mongoose not a snake. Didn't you pay attention when you read The Jungle Book in Sixth Grade?"

Dean glanced back and hissed, "Ssssss." He flicked his tongue in and out, mocking Sam, while at the same time clearing away brush.

"Bite me, Dean." Sam thwacked at the foliage in anger.

"I won't bite you, bro, but an itty bitty snake might," he chuckled.

"This is no itty, bitty snake we're hunting, Dean," Sam angered, kicking over a large rock, only to reveal more worms and beetles. "It's at least 45 feet long and six feet thick."

"Damn Sachamama might be stone deaf, but I'm not," Bobby blustered. "You two every shut your traps?"

"No." The boys shouted out in unison.

"Damn good thing this snake is deaf and again speakin' of…why are you so afraid of snakes, kid?" Bobby pressed Sam's issue.

"Everyone's afraid of something. Dean's afraid of rats," Sam justified, purposely evading the question.

"And Sammy's afraid of clowns," Dean retaliated.

"And I'm afraid I'm going to crack the two of your heads together if you don't stop busting each other's balls," Bobby spat, chopping his way through a patch of ferns. "So, answer the question, Sam," Bobby demanded.

Sam shrugged, biting into his lip and taking the Fifth as he squeezed past Dean forging ahead.

Dean gave Sam's shoulder a playful punch as he passed.

"Was that supposed to hurt?" Sam whacked through a thick grove of swampy grass, wondering how the giant snake could move even if it could through the tangle of the overgrown forest.

"If I wanted it to hurt Sammy, you'd know it," Dean offered up nonchalantly, being sure to keep pace with his fast moving, irritated brother.

"Again I ask, what am I missing out on here when it comes to Sam and snakes," Bobby bellowed from behind.

Dean gladly answered putting his shoulders and back into his chopping efforts. "When Sammy was ten, dad and I went after a shape shifter and Dad had a 'no girls allowed' rule back then so – "

"So…shut up, Dean," Sam grouched, moving ahead even faster.

"We'll he did," Dean argued. "You have to admit, Sammy, when you were ten you were one weak-kneed, ratty sneakered, whiny little bit – "

"I was not."

"Still are. No room for debate," Dean chuffed.

"Dean," Bobby warned gruffly, pausing only slightly to stretch out his overworked arm.

"Whatever," Dean said flatly. "Facts are facts, Bobby."

"Don't," Sam murmured, moving around a large overhanging branch.

"Don't what, Sammy? Tell Bobby what a pansy you are?"

"Dean," Sam threatened, "Do not bring up –"

"We left the squirt at Camp Happy Hour," Dean ran his motor mouth right over Sam. "And in the middle of Strawberry Shortcake's second night there, apparently a garter snake crawled into his sleeping bag –"

"It was-wasn't a sleeping bag, you jerk, it was a moth-eaten bl-blanket caked in m-mud." Sam so angry he stuttered.

"Wuss." Dean glanced at the back of his brother's head smiling and smiling and smiling some more. _Getting Sammy's goat was always so much fun. _"Should have heard him, Bobby, he was totally whacked out."

"That true, Sam?" Bobby asked sympathetically, slowing his pace.

Sam felt his cheeks heat up red-hot and quickly ducked his head as if he could hide his embarrassment behind a curtain of long hair.

"I never heard such a high-pitched squeal. Kid wouldn't stop screaming over the phone like a girl for dad and me to come get him," Dean chuckled. "The counselors couldn't calm him down –"

"Because they were all stone drunk," Sam mumbled, looking first left then right through the misty swirl of humid fog, then choosing to go right.

"Dad and I had no choice but to cut the hunt short and head back," Dean said, stepping up his speed to catch up to Sam. "Dad was so pissed at you, man."

"I was ten and the place was a dump, Dean. The food was crap, and we had to sleep in leaking, mangled tents with nothing but–"

"The snakes," Dean laughed.

Sam shivered.

"That was then, Sam. This is now," Bobby pointed out, still with an air of compassion in his tone. "You should be used to crawling with the creepy things by now, kid."

"Thanks for that, jerk," Sam scolded Dean in a prissy tone, storming faster ahead again, trying to get away from his stupid big brother's taunting.

"Welcome for that, Bitch." Dean picked up pace, not allowing Sam out of his sight.

"So back to this hunt," Bobby spoke up. "Remember boys the Sachamama is excellent at camouflage we could be walking over her right now."

All three hunters made closer inspection of the narrow footpath they were walking.

"Come out, come out wherever you are, you fugly, slimy, bitch." Dean swung at a large Cypress tree standing in his way, sending pieces of bark and fur-like branches flying. He panted heavily, and waited for a reaction.

"Dean, you never pay attention. Sachamama lives exclusively on the ground," Sam cautioned, swinging his own machete, sweeping the forest floor.

"Also means Mother Tree. And, dude, yes I do pay attention," Dean added. "There's no telling what or where Sacajawea is hiding out." He stabbed the tip of his machete into a two-foot mud puddle.

Nothing.

"It's Sachamama, Dean," Sam said with a heavy huff of irritation. "Sacajawea was a Native American and the only woman who helped guide Lewis and Clark on their exploration of the Western United States also acting as an interpreter for them," Sam muttered dryly. "And if you read correctly Sachamama,"he said the name with emphasis. "Actually means Mother Jungle," he grunted, chopping into a velvety-green moss-covered log.

Still nothing.

"What a geek… thinks he knows so much," Dean ridiculed, taking yet another swing at yet another Cypress tree then wiping yet more sweat from his brow with his sleeve.

"That's because this 'geek' actually reads what pops up on the computer screen, Dean."

"That's the problem, phobia boy…you got the wrong equipment popping up. Ha!"

"I…um… you…"Sam once again reduced to stuttering.

Dean smiled confidently; one upping his brother was always so much fun. Two upping him even more fun. "I heard you the other night at the bar chatting up that blond chick, Sammy. Talk about lame pickup lines." Dean glanced over his shoulder and said in a high-pitched girly-tone, "I'm not drunk, I'm intoxicated by you," he mimicked.

Sam growled, "I did not say that." He ran his fingers nervously through his hair. "Not in those exact words anyway."

"Nerdy, Sammy, real nerdy."

Sam grumbled, "Beats out your 'would you sleep with a stranger. No? Then hi, my name is Dean,' routine." He rolled his eyes and let them stay rolled for a second in exaggeration.

"Least my pickup lines work." Dean waggled his brow going back to chopping at the undergrowth. "I get 'em while their hot, Sammy boy."

Sam swung his machete over a mound of dried-up grass. "You wouldn't get any, Dean, if… shit!" Sam yelped and came up short as a weasel-like creature with a long body and short stubby legs jumped out from under the dried grass and bounded away, four smaller lookalikes waddling right behind. "What the hell?"

"Nibbling on bacon, chewin' on cheese," Bobby sung out from not too far behind them.

"Huh?" Sam and Dean questioned together, both shooting Bobby peculiar looks.

"Captain and Tennille," Bobby answered confidently as if they should know.

The boys shrugged at each other. _He can't be serious?_

"Muskrat Love," Bobby clarified further.

The boys looked at him blankly.

"Never mind. You two wouldn't know good music if it kicked you in the jewels," Bobby sulked.

"Yowch." Sam and Dean chimed, both wincing at the thought.

Bobby sighed and then said sharply, "Now what if that rat was our rubber hose? You two jug heads want to stop spouting off and pay attention to the hunt?" he spoke loudly, but got no response. "That there was a question and I'm a-waitin' on an answer," Bobby further demanded.

"Yes, sir," Sam and Dean collectively spoke up.

"Sachamama," he said the word extra slowly, "Is one giant-assed boa constrictor and is nothing to screw with. She's a real snake in the grass."

"Literally," Sam butted in. "Legend says this snake just grows and grows until it can't grow anymore. So big she can't move about through the tight jungle of trees so she searches for a swampy area making it her permanent home," he said, chopping into a twisted vine.

Nothing moved this time.

"Probably has been sitting in one spot for hundreds of years covered in vegetation," he continued.

"Camouflage is her first line of defense." Bobby whacked at a thicket of wild berries. "All she has to do is open her mouth and swallow you whole. Stop you dead in your tracks. Won't even leave chew-marks on your bones, " Bobby said. "And before you say anything, Sam, yes, she could be a tree."

"What?" Sam squawked. "I didn't – "

"Son, don't be bothering to explain," Bobby said suggestively then cleared his throat. "Now listen here, you two, she won't actually be a tree, told you before we left the truck…she prefers the soft wet cool ground, but part of her could be wrapped around a tree like a thick vine. " Bobby swung at a tree chipping off some bark.

Nadda.

"She also has a second line of defense. Which would be what? Dean?"

Bobby's pop quiz caught Dean off guard as he was too busy chuckling at the enjoyment of his brother being berated. Dean stuttered for an answer. "What? I…um… you…"

"Sam?" Bobby directed.

"She can whip up a storm," Sam answered right off. "Helps distract her prey as they approach, conceal her even further," he said in an all-knowing tone, splashing through another swampy puddle.

"Right, Sam," Bobby said proudly.

'Right, Sam.' Dean mouthed, rolling his eyes at his geek brother. _The brown noser._

"And for all we know… Dean," Bobby paused for effect. "We could be stepping on her right now, so enough slap and tickle talk. Let's keep clearing a path and when something bleeds or we got wind and rain and lightning… you boys know damn well what to do, right?"

Always the dutiful student, Sam opened his mouth to answer, but this time Dean beat him to the punch.

"Cut off Jaffar's head," Dean said smugly, poking his tongue out at Sam.

"Dude. Real mature," Sam snipped. "You're watching Disney flicks now?"

"Princess Jasmine does New York," Dean chuckled, crushing through a spongy wet patch of white flowers.

"More porn," Sam mumbled in disgust, following close behind.

"Boys told you, enough ball busting! " Bobby ordered.

"Yes, sir," Sam and Dean's tone was shameful as they immediately went quiet. Only the hacking and slashing of Mother Nature now heard.

"Some days those boys just plain tucker me out," Bobby ranted to himself, "Walking up a mountainside with one leg in a cast and a sack full of bricks strapped to my backside would be less exhausting." Bobby stopped to remove his ball cap and swatted at a giant shiny green beetle that was about to land on the top of his head. "Damn, idgit's," Bobby whispered, glancing skyward.

They were losing daylight faster than normal. The thickness of the trees blocking what little they had left. Bobby knew that was a very bad thing when hunting anything – supernatural or not supernatural. He took in a deep breath, replacing his hat, practically smelling the putrid evil that lay somewhere on the forest floor cloaked in green and brown and well hidden among the dancing shadows from the swaying trees above.

The boys were a few yards ahead of him now. Finally quiet, scouting, totally vested. The dangerous, professional hunters he was always so dang proud of.

He took a step toward them, and then stopped abruptly again. Over his years of wandering the woods Bobby had developed an eye for change; colors, shapes, patterns, smells. Everything in nature stood out, talked to him. It was a foreign language most folks never could learn.

He tentatively took a few more steps, soundlessly and slowly lifting each foot high up off the ground and gently setting down first the heel of his boot, then his toe, heel, toe, heel, toe – a stalker's walk. Aside from the scavenger, gut-picking crow, and the muzzle-to-ass family of muskrats they'd just seen, no song of birds or buzz of pesky insects or chatter of squirrels or badgering brothers filled the air.

Up ahead, Sam and Dean were working their way around a thick wall of rock covered in green ivy, whacking at a grove of low-slung tree moss.

Bobby moved slightly off to his left, staring intently at a patch of green clover, tiny white flowers, and misshapen grape vines. He slowed his pace further, swept his eyes across the forest floor. There was a hint of a shape. A patchy pattern of brown that blended in with the boggy ground only its texture seemed slightly off, the tempo of its motion not matching the sway of the tiny flowers in the wind.

He squinted, studying more intently. Take away the clover, the twisted vines, the tiny white flowers and the puddles of squishy mud and you had –

"Balls," Bobby whispered, dropping his duffel off his shoulders. _The crap was about to hit the crapper_.

The sky began to darken, and a giant cloud moved in like someone rolling out the red carpet, only this carpet was black. The wind changed direction, from West to East. In anticipation to the moisture, the green leaves of the trees flipped over, showing their undersides flicking violently and shimmering silver.

"Double balls," Bobby yelped. "Boys," he shouted a warning.

At the strained sound of Bobby's voice, Sam and Dean spun about.

There came a huge bluish-white flash sending sparks crackling through the trees, a clap of thunder shook the ground, followed by blasting wind and the hail of rain. The patchy spot came to life; a giant head bursting forward, jaws open wide like the mouth of a deep, dark cave swinging Bobby's way.

The Sachamama's front fangs snagged Bobby by the shirt collar and pulled his feet a few inches off the ground. He dangled there a second looking much like a soaking wet coat hanging from a hook. The oversized, overweight hissing snake made a move about to flip the older hunter up into the air, catch him, and swallow him whole.

Bobby closed his eyes, machete still tight in his hand. _If he was going to become rat food, he'd take his weapon with him and hack at the thing from the inside out until he either freed himself or dissolved into a secretion of juicy bile acid and belly fat._

"Nooooooooo!" Dean was suddenly there, ramming his machete up through the bottom jaw of the boa and piercing its tongue. "Drop him, you bitch!" he screamed above another loud clap of thunder as the rain came pouring down.

The gargantuan snake roared out in pain, tossing her head upward to escape the blade, her blood reddening the puddles forming all around.

Bobby prepared to be tossed as well, but something wrapped around and latched onto both his legs and held on tight. The weight was dragging him downward, and the snake tugging upward –a game of Tug of War. Any second now he'd be torn in two. But the seconds ticked by and instead of his torso separating from his legs, his shirt ripped away from the snake's fang and he found himself plopping with a wet splash – ass end – to the soggy ground. Dazed and confused, he peered down the length of his body to see Sam peering back at him through dripping wet, muddy bangs. The kid was stretched out belly flat in the mud both arms still wrapped tightly around both of Bobby's legs.

"I gottcha, Bobby. It's okay," Sam gargled in a waterlogged voice.

Another bolt of lightning crashed down right in front of them, near blinding. Sam and Bobby cringed, electricity raising the hair on their heads.

"Any closer and they'd be calling you Shirley Temple and me Tom Selleck," Bobby snarked.

Ignoring the remark, Sam panted, "Bobby. You okay?" he crawled up onto his knees scooting to Bobby's side helping the shaky man up out of the muck.

"I'm good, kid." Bobby winced. "Just a few sore muscles is all."

"Sammy!" Dean hollered.

Bobby and Sam looked up to see Dean riding the snake like a cowboy riding a bucking bull. The Sachamama reared up, trying to smash its rider's back into a tree.

"That boy's all kinds of crazy. Get to him," Bobby said, shoving Sam bodily away. "Your brother's eight seconds are just about up."

Sam crawled through the mud, finding his machete he'd tossed aside, and then jumped up to his feet splashing haphazardly through the mud. The pelting rain hitting his face stung like chips of cut glass slowing him down.

Dean's eight seconds were done, but still he remained in the saddle, hacking into the creature's neck over and over while trying to hang on to its slimy skin. He was making good progress, the creature's blood spurting into his face with each cut.

"Ahhhhhhhh!" Dean raised the machete and jammed it down to the hilt, hoping to pierce into the creature's brainstem.

The snake shrieked in pain, belly flopping to the ground, tail swishing and violently batting against the muddy forest floor in an attempt to move, to escape, but her sheer size kept her rooted to her spot.

"Sammy," Dean called out, near breathless, working the machete back and forth to cut further into the neck. "Hurry up and help me kill this bitch."

Slipping and sliding, Sam skittered around the flailing tail and came up alongside the snake's right side. Quickly gaining balance, he started chopping like a woodsman into the side of its neck, legs spread far apart, and using a two-handed grip he swung hard giving each strike all he had, streams of rain mixed with sweat rolling down his face.

Dean continued to work from up top. Between the two, the beast's skin split wider and wider with each hack.

"Keep at it, boys! Stay away from its tail," Bobby ordered, coming up on the left side of the beast with his weapon.

Lighting struck an old Maple tree, the branch splintered, falling to the ground in a burst of orange flames but was quickly doused by the pounding rain. The snake bucked hard and Dean flew off. With circus-like agility he rolled, summersaulting through the air and landing facedown into a large mud puddle.

"Dean!" Sam abandoned the snake and raced toward his brother. Tripping and falling to his knees, he slid through the mud only skidding to a stop when he bumped into his downed brother. "Dean," he called again, grabbing the still form by the shoulders and rolling him quickly over onto his back.

Dean immediately blinked up at Sam through a mask of mud.

"Dean," Sam uttered in panic. "You okay?"

Heavy rain plodded down, washing the mud off Dean's face. He sat up slightly dazed and smacking his lips "Shouldn't this taste like peppermint?" he spit mud from his mouth. "Egg yolk? Avocado?"

"Dude!" Sam yanked Dean to his feet. "Talk about your fetishes later. We got a snake to kill. Remember?"

The three faced off again with the snake, dicing and slicing at her neck, inch by inch, chopping her down like a giant Sycamore tree.

The snake had flopped to her side, still fighting, though weakened.

The three hunters kept at it, near blinded by the continuous flashes of lighting reflecting off their steel blades and near deaf from the clapping thunder. All three stood at a comfortable distance from one another, each taking up a side alternating between horizontal strokes and vertical strokes. Notch after notch they cut into her neck. As if it were tree bark, pieces of flesh flung all about. Their machetes became harder to hold, slickened by the snake's blood and rain and cold fingers tingling from the electricity in the air.

The fatal cut was finally made by Dean as he pierced the jugular vein. "Yhatzee!" he whooped as the snakes head wobbled, holding on by only a few rope-like veins.

A few more hacks and whacks and the Sachamama was beheaded, its severed head rolling off to one side, body becoming more animated as muscles spasmed and nerve endings played catch-up. The three men backed away the snake flopped and rolled the blood spillage immense. Even from a distance and with the wash of rain, spurts of red soaked the hunter's shirts, and dotted their faces, entering their ears, eyes, and noses.

The storm suddenly came to a stop, and the woods became silent, save for the heavy drops of water sliding off the leaves of the trees and plinking to muddy, bloody puddles below. The snake's body was still now, but the mouth of the severed head continued to open and close, eyes staring right at Dean, gleaming with revenge.

"You lookin' at me? You lookin' at me," Dean mocked and made to walk over and kick the beast for good measure.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Sam roughly grabbed Dean by the arm stopping him cold.

"What the hell, Sam?" He glared at his brother in annoyance, tugging out of Sam's hold.

"Stay away from its head," Sam drawled out bossily. "It has a bite reflex and can still stick you with a fang. Dead or not."

_Kid was always sucking the joy out of the kill. _

"Whatever," Dean mumbled glaring at Sam, then smacked his brother roughly upside the head.

"Owe!" Sam squawked, rubbing at his right ear. "What the hell, man?"

Dean shrugged. "Mosquito, man," he said, causally walking away.

"That was uncalled for, man," Sam squelched.

"You started it, man," Dean responded.

"Knock it off, idgits," Bobby huffed in exasperation. "I'm hankering me some snake soup, boys." Bobby drew their attention as he ran his blade down the length of the creature's belly splitting its skin.

The hide unfolded like a banana peel blackened by the sun, splayed open wide to reveal mounds of lumpy, bloody guts.

"That's sick." Sam and Dean gulped.

"Neither of you has any taste in music or cuisine," Bobby complained, wiping his bloody blade off on his jean clad thigh and giving up on the snake soup, "Got a better idea." He headed over to the spot where he'd dropped his duffle and dug out a six pack, and tossed a cold one to each boy.

They popped their tabs in unison.

"To our livers, boys," Bobby happily raised his beer high.

"To fantastic teamwork," Sam cheered, holding his beer up as well.

"To women and horses and the men that ride them," Dean sung out, waving his beer in triumph.

Sam and Bobby frowned deeply, sadly shaking their heads at him.

"What?" Dean asked dumbfounded.

"Boy. If you don't know…I ain't tellin' yeah," Bobby muttered. "Cheers, idgits," he said, all three clunked their cans together and drank up.

Crumbling his can and stuffing it in his pack, Bobby said, "Now you young, strappin' lads can handle the cleanup of this mess. Don't forget to burn the head. More cold ones waiting for you two back at the car." He gathered his belongings and headed down the path they'd chopped their way through.

Dean gathered up his and Sam's machetes and walked back over to the tree where his weapon's bag had been flung during his cowboy ride, and began cleaning the blood of their blades. "You handle the snake head, know-it-all boy," he ordered Sam.

"Better that then being bossy."

"I'm not bossy, Sammy, I just know what you need to be doing is all."

Sam rolled his eyes and trudged toward the snake, noting the things mouth was no longer opening and closing. He swallowed another swig of beer taking a long time to look all around the forest. Call him know- it- all, call him a geek, call him a bitch, call him whatever you will something was off. He took another swing and glanced back down at their kill.

"Huh?" Sam cocked his head, frowning deeply at the bloody pool of bubbling flesh and large intestines. Had he just heard a hissing sound? He took two steps closer taking another half-interested swallow of beer.

"Sam," Dean called out, swiping the sweat off his forehead and glancing over at his brother. "Get your lazy Sasquatch ass in gear. I'd like to get back to the motel before the mosquitos come out in force." He turned to face a tree.

"What about you?" Sam glanced at his brother who appeared to be doing nothing more than staring at a tree.

"Give me a minute, man, relieving my sea of tranquility, you mind?"

"Your sea of wh –" Out of the corner of Sam's eye he thought he saw the large bloody-red intestines move. _What the. _"Dean." Sam turned to stare further at the splayed open carcass.

"Dude, told you give me a minute," Dean called out over his shoulder in annoyance, "Takes time to drain this monster."

Unsure of what he was actually seeing, Sam moved closer never taking his eyes off the bloody glop as the crimson bowels seemed to be quivering. How could that be? He cocked his head off to one side, Bobby's words ringing in his ears. _Camouflage…it was the snakes' best defense_. Like a child making shapes out of the clouds, Sam made shapes out of the guts. What kind of intestines had a mouth, white fangs and large, black beady eyes?

The two sets of black beady eyes zeroed hungrily right in on him the intestines; which were not intestines at all rising up to their full height, the twin serpents fast moving to strike.

Sam's skin prickled, his beer slipping from his hand and hitting a rock, foamy spray shot-gunning all around. He stuttered to call out to Dean, but everything happened in a flash of stabbing pain. The two newborn snakes were already on him. One ringed around both his ankles, taking him off balance, the other surging through the air wide mouth open and striking him in the chest, biting down hard and latching on.

"Dee!" Sam cried out grabbing hold of the sides of the snakes face pinned to his shirt, wrestling to pull it free.

Dean whirled around, just now zipping up his pants. "Sam! Holy crap!" He wildly snatched up his machete, still covered in blood. "Bobby, ambush!" he screeched, racing toward his brother.

**Continued in chapter two - story is complete!**


	2. Chapter 2 Finale

Chapter Two

Finale

Dead In Its Tracks

By: Karen B.

/~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~/

The young snakes were fast and efficient. The one coiled around Sam's ankle had already wrapped itself all the way up to Sam's waist trapping his legs inside the meaty skin and dragging him down, crash-landing him on his back with a loud grunt of pain.

The second snake attached to his shirt was just as super-fast, slipping round and round his upper body, gripping him in a tight hug. Newborn babies or not, the creatures were strong and powerful and apparently starving.

"Sam!" Dean slipped through the wet mud and bloody leaves, but remained standing as he slid the rest of the way across the forest floor, dropping straight to his knees when he reached his brother. He let the machete fall haphazardly next to him in the mud, his first instinct to try and pull the slimy skinned things off his brother. He tugged and pulled aggressively at the thick rope-like bodies, but the snakes only seemed to get pissed off and squeezed around Sam tighter, formfitting around the kid's body like a rock stars tight leather jumpsuit.

"Bobby!" Dean screamed again madly, hands now hovering, unable to find their heads or see their beady black eyes, and having no idea which ends of the snakes were which – their brown, diamond shaped color and size exactly the same – twins.

"Dee…Dean," Sam faltered, "I can…can…can't...uggh," he moaned arching upward a bit as the snakes applied more pressure.

"Son of a bitch." Once again, Dean reached out, this time grabbing hold of the nearest constricting coil around his brother's neck. The snake's skin was cold and slimy with mucous and blood and the thick body pulsed against his hand making it damn near impossible to hold on to.

"Ssssssssaaaam," Dean grunted, pulling upward for all he was worth, straining his every muscle trying to break the hold.

Sam watched the sky revolve in a dizzying array of panic and fear as the serpents continued to coil around him slowly forcing the air out of his lungs, his vision spotting black. But he wouldn't give up. Not on Dean, who was still tugging so hard his face had turned red. Sam struggled to help his brother to free him from the twin's grip. He arched his back further, puffing up his body, trying to loosen the rope-like beasts. They were just too strong and big, even as newborns.

Sam's blood vessels were already being cut off, his limbs numbing from lack of circulation as if they were plunged into a lake of freezing water.

"Cu…" Sam deflated, his entire body near paralyzed. Realizing one hand was free of the constricting coils, he instinctively clawed along the sloppy ground for anything he could use to help pry the snakes off. He could grasp at nothing, already tumbling into darkness as all the air was being squeezed out of him. "Cut 'em off," he choked out.

Dean glanced at Sam. His kid brother was gasping like a swimmer coming up after being underwater for too long, large wide eyes staring up at Dean, pleading for 'help.' Sam was in serious trouble. Dean had to do something now! Fast. He grabbed his machete out of the mud and stood, holding the large blade high overhead, panicked; about to hack down right in the center of the coiled, meaty blob of dark-gray diamond shaped scales.

"Wait. Dean. No!" A hand grabbed hold of Dean's. "You want to hack your brother in two?" Bobby panted.

Dean immediately dropped the machete. Shaking badly he went back to his knees near Sam's head. The kid blinked up at him in fear, his face wind-lashed red. Dean could just barely make out a vein in his brother's neck pulsing double-time between the snakes coils.

"Easy, Sam, easy," Dean said quietly, gaining some of his own composure back. "Try not to struggle so much. You understand me?"

"'Y's," Sam gasped.

Bobby dropped down on the other side, situated near the kid's waist, and shot Dean a look. "No way of telling how he's wrapped up in this snakeskin tortilla. Here." He handed Dean a survival knife – sharper and more precise than the machete – with a hard rubber grip and ten inch serrated blade. "Go fast, but go careful. More surgical-like cuts." He turned to Sam. "Son, you hold on. They're going to tighten down before they loosen, but I don't see any other way."

"Okay, yeah, okay," Sam panted breathlessly, face scrunching all up in pain and suffering.

Dean gripped the knife steadfast and bent low over Sam. "Do that calming, girly yoga breathing thing you do. You do that for me now, Sam, and don't you stop until I tell you too, you got me?"

There was hardness in Dean's eyes that bolstered Sam's confidence. He blinked up at Dean, slightly parting his lips and breathing slowly and as deeply as he could through his mouth, though it was more like slurping air through a weed, yet the technique seemed to already be calming him, gaining him back some control, quieting his fearful mind.

"Good, boy. Good, Sammy." Dean gripped the knife steadfast. "We've got this," he said again, nodding at his brother with a determined look in his eyes. "Bobby and I've got this. Just hang in there." Dean said firmly as he and Bobby got to work.

They started to cut into the tough skin, blood sluicing down their hands in rivulets.

The two snakes, right-off sensed something not good happening to them as they slithered and wound around their catch further. Sam was theirs and they weren't letting him go so easily.

Sam bit back a moan, now alternating breaths between his mouth and nostrils, staring straight upward at the leaves above and concentrating. His one free hand still poked out from between the coils, all five fingers opening and closing in time with each inhale and exhalation.

"Bobby?" Dean called, still not taking his eyes off his work.

When Bobby didn't answer, Dean glanced up at him.

Blood splattered across Bobby's shirt as he made cut after cut. He took a second to look across the snakes at Dean. "Making progress," he said quickly, a small muscle in his right cheek twitching .

'So are the snakes.' Dean vocalized without the use of words.

'Won't let him die, son,' Bobby telepathically stated back, his eyes blazing with fire.

Dean nodded and went back to cutting.

The snakes turned and twisted with shocking strength even though Bobby and Dean had cut deeply through in more than several spots.

"They regenerate fast," Bobby rasped harshly. "Gotta find their damn heads."

Dean bit his lower lip bloody, every slice and dice full of responsibility, fear, friendship, and brotherly love. Out of his peripheral vision he watched Sam struggle under the powerful hold. His brother's calm breaths were now turning to quick jerky ones, his face shockingly white and his lips bloodless.

"Sammy?" He leaned toward him but didn't stop working.

"Trying," Sam took in one hard inhalation after another hard inhalation, his lungs burning from the pressure. He was helpless and losing control. Not able to focus on the leaves above any longer, he watched as Dean and Bobby frantically tried to free him.

Everything started to twirl at Mach speed, the forest a colorless, dream-like carousel. Sam's oxygen was depleting fast, so was his trust that Bobby and Dean 'had this'. "Dean. Hur-hurr – " Sam's words were cut off by a bubbly gulp of air.

Dean paused, looking hard at Sam. The kid's hazel eyes were bulging, sweat dripping down his flushed face and pin-straight strands of hair sticking to his forehead making him look like a feverish four-year-old. The sight of his brother suffocating right before his eyes brought Dean to near madness. "Come on, Sammy, don't try to talk," he whispered, hunching over and going to work on the scaly loop around his brother's neck. Only this time Dean kept his eyes on Sam as he cut, needing his brother to feel he really was with him in his struggle.

Sam's eyebrows shot up. _What are you doing?_

Dean could feel Sam's fear thrumming through him, yet he smiled. "Sam, I won't cut you, won't let anything happen to you, promise." Dean's tone was reassuring and stable and confident even though he wasn't sure he could promise such a thing. "Got me, pal?" he said using an authoritative, demanding tone.

Exhausted, but reassured, Sam gave a slight nod of his sweat-slicked head, his breath slipping in and out of his mouth in short sporadic pants, knowing if he breathed any slower he wouldn't be breathing at all.

"Just keep sucking in air." Dean went back to focusing on the task, snake blood leaking out from between his fingers, his protective instinct kicking up his pace as he sawed faster.

Seconds were hours.

Near unconscious, Sam pulled in harsh wheezing breaths, straining and sweating profusely as the snake's big bellies crushed him further, breaths coming shallower and shallower.

"Dean," he whispered lethargically, feeling himself fading fast.

Realizing what was happening; Dean stopped what he was doing just in time to see Sam's gaze wandering off, slanting lazily off to the right, unfocused and blank.

"Hey!" Dean stopped and grabbed his brother by his exposed hand and squeezed. Sam's flesh was cold to the touch–lack of circulation–but Dean ignored that fact. "Hey. Over here, bitch," he ducked his head until Sam's gaze slowly slid back to meet his. "I'm getting you out of this, Sammy, but you have to give me something here. You understand what that means?"

Seeing his own fear mirrored in Dean's eyes, Sam squeezed his brother's hand back in a death grip. "Means I have to–"Sam swallowed. "T –"he rasped. "To give all I've g-got," he stuttered in barely a whisper.

Dean gave a weak smile.

Sam hiccupped for a breath.

The brother's eyes wouldn't leave the other for what seemed like an endless amount of time, both knowing too well, understanding without a doubt what was about to happen next.

Sam's eyes filled with accepting trust as he suddenly found himself slammed against a brick wall, stuck between a hard place and well…a hard place, unable to release a breath or take one in, his lungs frozen. He went completely stiff, could feel the light leaving his eyes.

"Sammy, no," Dean uttered in devastation, letting his knife plop to the mud.

"Dean, keep on task," Bobby's shout was a mere tickle in Dean's ear, his full concentration on his quickly fading brother.

Sam made an odd gurgling noise deep in his throat, his eyes mere slits, his attempt to talk failing, replaced by a faraway gaze, his lips moving but no sound or air coming out.

"Damn you, Sam," Dean spat. "I need you to listen to me, okay? Just listen and keep your eyes open. We're getting these bitches off of you. We don't give up." Dean kept hold of Sam's hand, pushing the fingers of his other roughly through Sam's hair. "Tell me you hear me. Stay with me, pal!"

Sam blinked slowly, his death grip slipping.

"Sammy?" Dean swallowed hard.

Sam choked, eyelashes fluttering like butterfly wings, his white lips quickly assuming a bluish color, but remaining parted. Sam's tongue was thick and heavy trying to poke and push words out, but no words would come, only a deep down rattle that rumbled and bubbled from somewhere inside his chest.

Frantic, Dean let go of Sam's hand, and grabbed hold of the sides of his brother's head instead, dipping down within an inch of Sam's face. "Come on, man, hold on," Dean begged, fingers digging cruelly into the sides of Sam's temples leaving marks, utterly freaked.

"I see you, you slimy bitch," Bobby announced loudly.

The twisted up snakes suddenly constricted further and there came the sound of bone cracking.

Sam's neck arched far backward, tiny white air bubbles soundlessly slipping past his lips.

"God, no," Dean looked back, "Bobby, they're killing him."

Bobby growled feverishly grappling for a head before it could curl into the mass of bodies and hide again.

Sam made a crocking sound.

Dean whipped around just in time to witness his brother's final gasp. His eyes making rapid up and down movements until they finally rolled all the way up into his head and his mouth fell open.

"No, no, no," Dean shouted, watching as Sam's skin turned from pure white to pale blue.

"Dean?" Bobby didn't need to waste time looking; he knew. Just kept hacking and trying to untangle the rubber-like bulk.

"Not breathing, he's not breathing," Dean shouted, as he immediately slipped a hand under Sam's neck and lifting it as far back as he could and started mouth-to mouth.

"I got one!" Bobby announced pinning one of the writhing snakes at the neck with his forearm, grunting and sawing through the thick muscles.

The snake's jaws opened wide and Bobby realized his whole head would completely fit inside its mouth and shivered hard. But the threat of his face being chomped off wasn't why he trembled. Hearing Dean begging his little brother to' just breathe' was what scared the hell out of him, taking ten years off his lifespan.

Bobby put everything he had into cutting faster. The head hung by a thread. He made one final cut, severing the head and tossing it off to one side. The dying body wiggled and waggled like a runaway garden hose, blood spurting all over. Not stopping, Bobby went straight to loosening the dead body from around Sam's torso.

"Is he breathing yet, Dean?" Bobby questioned too busy to stop and look and hoping to hell that he'd loosed the dead snake enough to give Sam's oxygen deprived body a break.

Dean sat back on his heels, fear flooding through his being like ocean tides. Cupping a palm over Sam's nose and mouth he waited holding his own breath.

There was nothing.

Sam wasn't ventilating properly, the coils around his neck and chest far too tight to let any air trickle in.

"Yes? No?" Bobby shouted in frustration, going straight to searching for the remaining reptile's head.

"His airway's blocked." Dean bent back over and tried to breathe again for Sam, pinching the kid's nose snug, encircling warm lips securely over cold ones, and initiating two fuller, longer breaths of air.

It was like hitting a brick wall. Sam's chest didn't move up or down.

The last snake suddenly doubled its efforts to hide its head, looping and twisting and curling around its safe haven.

"Dean?" Bobby yelled.

Dean tried again and again to the point of dizzy; desperately pushing air into Sam's lungs.

"I can't." Dean sat back up, shaking his head in anguish. "Friggin' bitch. I can't get any air into him," he mumbled, staring helplessly down at Sam, the whites of his brother's eyes peeking out from under the shade of long lashes.

"Dean, help me find the other head!" Bobby ordered sternly.

Dean drew back further as if hypnotized. Unable to see the pulse in Sam's neck, he tried to work his fingers past the snake-like rope to check for one, but the damn thing was like a sailors knot. Dean quickly picked up Sam's lax, cold wrist-the only visible part of him besides his hair.

"Sammy, please," Dean begged, feeling for some sort of rhythm.

"Heartbeat?" Bobby barked in a shaky voice.

Dean gulped, feeling dizzy and sick. "I can't tell."

"Dean!" Bobby shouted. "The other head," he reminded the distraught older brother. "Hurry. It's Sam's only chance."

Dean shuddered giving one last look at Sam's slack face, then roared a wounded battle cry as he took up his survival knife once again and stared slicing and dicing like a Ninja warrior, desperate to free his brother.

/~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~/

Sam's energy was drained; he floated in a relaxed, dream state in a faraway beautiful land. Everything was lush-green and warm-gold. He felt the flutter of petal soft wings, white wings that encircled him, comforted him, and begged him to give in. But distant whispering pleas forced him to twist and turn away from the comfort and now he found himself floating in darkness, afraid, alone, abandoned.

He couldn't think straight or speak inside this distorted dream. Something was wound around his throat. His chest heavy, body ridged and hot, then suddenly cold and numb, yet he couldn't shiver.

The whispering became louder.

Orders were being barked out. Agitated and panicked. Someone was begging him to do something. The more he listened, the more he was pulled from the darkness, the cold and numbness wearing off. The voice equaled pain and Sam so desperately wanted to ignore the pain, but he couldn't.

"Come on!" Someone yelled right in his ear, demanding something of him. "Damn you." A hand clasped his shoulder and shook violently. "Sam! Sam! No, Sammy!"

"There's still a pulse. Weak but there. Keep breathing for him," an older voice instructed.

Immediately, warm air blew down his throat and lifted the heaviness in his chest.

"It's a bad day for dying, boy," the older voice muttered.

Sam felt like a fire breathing dragon had taken up root in his lungs. He tried to move, to run away from the uncomfortable pressure and heated flames, but couldn't.

"This isn't working." The hand on his shoulder was back, fingers digging in, shaking. Bruising. Hurting. "Sammy!"

Sam tried to bat a hand out through the darkness_. _

"_Keep at it, Dean."_

_Dean? _Sam frowned_, _his awareness raising a notch, images flashing like a camera in the darkness.

A bloody glob, legless creatures, still as statues, two forked, flicking tongues, white fangs striking out, without sound and amazing speed. Slimy ropes looping around him, strong muscles flexing, tightening and releasing, squeezing, body-to- body friction, too hot, so painfully hot. He couldn't breathe, his world dark, void, cold.

_Please. Get them off me. Get them off_.

Sam felt himself sinking further away, the images fading and the pain leaving again. That should have been a good thing, but all it served to do was to freak Sam out, he tried to work his throat muscles, take in some air, but his efforts where met with nothingness.

"No, no, no." He heard someone sucking in a deep harsh breath, felt trembling lips sealed over his mouth firmly, familiar fingers massaging the sides of his throat as air trailed down to reinflate his lungs for him.

"Now, Sammy! Now, damn it!"

The booming voice in his ear was like an electric jolt. Sam began to twitch, his body shifting slightly. He let out a harsh croak, neck arching back, Adams apple sliding up and down as he drug in a deep and painfully grating breath.

"We got him back. We got him," the older voice announced gleefully. "Told yeah it was a bad day for dying."

Sam's eyes snapped open in fear and panic and confusion, staring blurrily up, his heart banging like a brass gong in his chest.

"Again, Sammy. That's it. Do it again," Dean said, steadfastly keeping two fingers pressed to Sam's neck. "Slow it down. Just breathe, little brother, breathe. Nice and simple, it's all you have to do." Dean gave a megawatt smile.

"Nuuuh." Sam's head moved from side to side, legs kicking, arms twitching at his sides. The snakes? He could still smell them; still feel them knotted around him even though somewhere inside his mind he knew they were gone.

"Calm down." Dean winced, watching his brother's fast and frenzied struggle to regain himself. "Come on, bro, calm down. You can breathe now." Dean gripped Sam's head between his hands and raised him up a little, peering deeply into his eyes. "You can breathe now," he repeated. "Come on."

Sam's entire body was shaking and bucking as he painfully wheezed and gasped for air, his eyes glazed in confusion, his brain deprived of thought.

"Help me get him onto his side." Bobby came into view. "He'll be able to breathe easier."

Dean hurriedly worked with Bobby, gently rolling Sam onto his left hip. He sat in the wet muddy leaves, placing Sam's head in his lap, happy to see the kid's skin slowly coloring back to normal.

"D'n," Sam coughed a few more times, and then twisted onto his back, blinking upward, searching.

"Right here. I'm right here," Dean assured, fingertips butterflying down the side of Sam's cheek.

Sam sighed, his eyes doing a fluttering roll, his lack of strength staggering.

"Hey, hey, no, no." Dean crowded over him. "None of that crap." He traded fingertips for palm, patting at Sam's cheek a little too eagerly.

Sam's eyes continued to flutter, the sky above whirling. The worried face in his blurred in and out and spun the opposite way of the sky making him nauseous. Sam focused on the fast moving lips, listened to the voice, the words sounding muffled like they were deep underwater where there was no air.

Sam shook his head. "Can't." He couldn't breathe. His lungs were stuffy and hot. Space, he needed more space. "Off," Sam sputtered, desperately surging upward with every ounce of strength he had left in him.

"Whoa! Sammy!" Dean situated his knees in the mud, using his full weight and both hands flat to Sam's chest to press him back down. "Yes you can, man. Come on," he shouted. "I need you with me now."

Sam's eyes went wide with dread as he weakly brushed at his body.

"Geeze, kid really is afraid." Bobby frowned, getting up from where he was sitting next to Sam and stepping back, giving the space the kid obviously needed.

Sam sloshed about weakly under Dean's hands, a heavy wheeziness rasping in and out of his open mouth.

"Stop flipping out, Sam. Need to look at you." Dean gripped both Sam's shoulders and held firm.

Sam heard, but his oxygen deprived mind was having a hell of a time processing. The snakes were gone. He knew that, but had to keep reminding himself. _They're gone. Gone. Gone. _But then why could he still feel their coiled bodies writhing around him, dragging him down, and squeezing the life from him.

Deciding to take a gentler approach, Dean pulled Sam up to his knees and held the kid close and flat against his chest. One hand at the center of Sam's back, the other threading up into his long hair and bringing Sam's head to rest on his shoulder at the crook of his neck, cradling him secure and safe.

"They're gone, Sammy. It's just me." Dean gripped Sam's hair in a fist when the kid tried to pull away. "You can breathe. We're breathing together." Dean took in deep breath after deep breath his chest expanding, pushing against Sam's. "Listen," he inhaled. "Just listen," he exhaled right in Sam's ear.

In and out. In and out, Dean tutored his brother on the simple task.

Sam finally stilled, his jittery body draping over Dean in sudden limpness, arms dangling at his sides. His mind shifted. The scent of Right Guard and beer breath settled in and took root. His brother had him. "Dean." One hand reached up to grip Dean's shirt.

"That's right, that's my, boy," Dean whispered, still sucking air in and out, puffing into Sam's ear. "Better," He muttered, releasing Sam's hair, placing his hand gently on his back instead.

Sam swallowed painfully. "Better," he assured in a strained voice, concentrating on every breath as the tight feeling in his chest left.

Dean wiggled a hand up between them, easing Sam upward so their eyes could meet, keeping one hand at Sam's back the other against his chest, holding the kid's weight sandwiched between his palms.

Sam wordlessly scrambled to pull his shaky legs under him, but didn't get very far.

Dean readjusted his hold; he twisted behind Sam and pulled the kid down. "You're not walking anywhere, dude."

Sam quickly realized this and lay back against Dean, weak and heavy and awkward. He raised a hand up to touch Dean's face, but a popping sound stopped him. "Guh,"he cried out, thrusting upward and doubling over trying to escape the pain as his hand dropped to his side, floppy and useless. "M' arm," he panted, face turning green, teeth gnashing together hard enough to chip porcelain.

"Sam?" Dean called softly.

Sam couldn't answer, his body trembling as he bit back small sobs.

"Easy. Easy, Sammy," Dean soothed, now rubbing circles on the kid's back. While Sam remained hunched over and quivering, Dean triaged his brother without ever touching him. From elbow to wrist, Dean could see by the deformed angle and extremely swollen balloon-like flesh what was wrong.

"Broken?" Bobby asked.

"But good." Dean and Bobby grimaced at one another.

"Least he's not a horse," Bobby said, tipping his hat to shade his eyes from the drops of rain still slipping off the leaves. "Between us we could help him walk back," he suggested.

"You think you can do that, Sammy?" Dean asked, continuing his massaging.

"Fine," Sam groaned. "I'm…I'm fine," he gagged, listing sideways.

Dean shook his head. "Yeah, we're not going anywhere like this," he told Bobby firmly, pulling Sam back slowly and gently being sure not to wrench any part of his brother until he had him resting snuggly once again against his chest.

Sam could do nothing more than sag back, gagging in Dean's arms. "Give…just give me a minute," he swallowed reflexively.

"Sorry, son, you're going to have to take more than a minute I'm afraid, "Bobby muttered.

Sam shifted uncomfortably opening his mouth to protest, the sharp pain in his arm making his stomach flip and flop.

"We could carry him," Dean offered.

"I don't know about you, Dean," Bobby continued. "But my back can't hold a kid his size. Truck's eight miles back. Be like corner pocketing an eight ball using a rope instead of a stick."

"Guys," Sam barely said the word, his throat raw, chest heavy, all his limbs going as soggy as bread soaked in a bowl of milk, and for some stupid reason he itched all over the place. But still he tried to inch his way higher up on Dean's chest.

Dean glanced down at Sam seeing the kid's misery, and his face crumpled. "Yeah, you're right, Bobby," he agreed. "Stay still," he pressed Sam back keeping him from sitting up and going back to talking to Bobby. "A two-week old, three-legged kitten would make it before he ever did. What about your truck?"

"Guys," Sam uttered in a pitifully weak voice, his tongue flapping lazily about in his mouth like piece shoe leather.

"Trucks not heavy-duty, but Old Ethel should be able to Baja her way through the path we cut."

"Old who?" Dean hiked a curios brow, picturing the old rusty-yellow truck wearing a polka-dotted skirt and white granny wig.

"Guys," Sam coughed.

"The walk back shouldn't take long," Bobby continued. "You sure you can handle this end?"

"Guys," Sam rasped out a little glob of spit foaming on his lips.

"What?" Bobby and Dean barked at Sam.

"Bigger problems," Sam offered flatly barely able to keep his eyes focused. "That thing had babies. You know what that means."

"Holy crap, Bobby, he's right," Dean said, shoulders stiff as he urgently hovered over Sam protectively, sizing up the immediate area.

"Taker her easy, boys," Bobby injected calmly, "Damn snake's a freak of nature. Has both lady parts and man parts."

"A Hermaphrodite," Sam sighed. "Relax, Dean," he muttered.

Dean didn't relax. Not just yet. "You mean that thing had…er… a …he," he shook his head. "And…uh… she…a…a he-she."

Bobby rolled his eyes. "All that and brains too, unlike you, yeah idgit."

Sam gave a small chuckle but was cut off by another unforgiving gagging fit that ended on a kneeing sob.

Sam caught the questioning look Bobby gave Dean.

"Guys," Sam took a breath. "I can make it," he whispered, trying to hold his head up high in proof.

Dean shook his head 'no' fashion at Bobby.

"I'm on it," Bobby said, and broke into a jog, heading back down the cut path.

Sam squirmed uncomfortably against Dean, scratching an itch on the side of his neck against Dean's shirt. "D'n. I said…I can make it."

"Make what, dude? Spit bubbles?"

Sam tried to retort with something smart assed, but only succeeded in producing a hearty, raspy cough.

"Hey, easy." Dean ran his fingers through Sam's sweaty hair.

Sam closed his eyes, wishing he could reach the itch on his sweaty back. "Itch in every possible place," he griped, miserably.

"Huh?" Dean squirmed about in realization as well. "Me, too." He glanced around. "Damn mosquitos."

/~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~/

**TAG:**

After getting Sam checked out, his broken arm put in a cast, and the bite mark on his chest flushed clean at the local ER, Bobby had found them a motel room to hold up a few days in. The room was small and clean, decorated in powder-puff-girly- pink.

Bobby stood at the foot of the turned down King-sized bed and sighed with sympathy at Sam and Dean both huddled under the covers together.

"You two are one hot mess," he grumbled, rubbing at his chin and wincing at the sight of the raw, red, oozing, blistery rash that had broken out all over both his boys.

"Not as hot of a mess as this room is, Bobby," Dean sulked loudly, eyes roaming the sparkly pink on pink and yet even more pink room. "Could have gotten us a room with two Queens at least."

"What's a matter with you, boy? Your new boudoir isn't sexy enough for you?"

"All of me is sexy enough," Dean snipped, "For me." He titled sideways a little and whispered confidentially in Sam's ear, "What part of me would be my boudoir?"

Sam titled sideways toward Dean and whispered back, "A boudoir is a ladies private bedroom, Dean."

Dean shifted uncomfortably. "I knew that. Was just checking to see if you knew."

Bobby humphed, "Jug heads, I don't need the aggravation." He rounded the bed to Dean's side handing him the remote control. "Watch TV."

Dean snatched the remote and started clicking. "There's crap on TV, and this is all a bunch of crap," his tone cranky and irate, reaching to scratch at the side of his neck.

Bobby grabbed his wrist stopping him. "I told ya before, boy. This isn't crap and it isn't mosquitos. It's poison ivy, and if you go on a scratching at it you'll infect it. Don't touch," Bobby said letting go Dean's hand and shoving candy wrappers and pop cans out of the way. He pulled the covers down exposing Dean's bare chest and sat on the edge of the bed beside him. "You're both broken out all over." He squirted white cream out of a tube he held and started to rub it all over Dean's chest, neck, and arms.

"Hey, that's cold," Dean yelped, squirming about.

Bobby shrugged easing Dean up so he could get at his back. "Think I'm havin' fun, boy? But it's the only way to help get rid of the rash," he grouched.

Dean cringed. "Don't say rash."

"Okay, your outbreak."

"Bobby." Dean cringed again. "Stop."

"Inflammation," Bobby said a wryly little half-smile on his face.

"Sammy, little help here," Dean said, turning to face his brother who also was covered head to toe in redness and white cream.

"Would you prefer Toxicodendron radicans?" Sam injected the skin around his eyes tight.

"What the hell?" Dean shuddered and fidgeted as Bobby laid him back against the pillows.

"It's the scientific name for poison ivy, Dean." Sam writhed against the mound of pillows stacked behind him.

"Shut up," Dean grumbled, lower lip pouting.

"Where else you itch, boy?" Bobby asked, squirting out another liberal glob of cream onto his fingers.

"Someplace you… will… never… go. "Dean scratched at the crook of his arm, then the side of his neck, then his chest and stomach and…"Damn it," he barked, nabbing the tube, jumping out of bed making a beeline to the bathroom and not bothering to shut the door. "This friggin' sucks," he blurted, a second later poking his head out of the doorway. "It's a foo-foo chick's bathroom," he bellyached.

"He always this bitchy?" Bobby glowered over at Sam.

"Mmmm," Sam hummed his agreement, his throat still hot and swollen, body achy and itchy all over, especially his casted arm.

"You okay, son?" Bobby asked quietly.

Sam moaned, the fingers poking out of his cast twitching as he tried to adjust his broken arm on the fuzzy pink pillow it rested on.

"…toothbrush holder, shower curtain, fluffy rugs… even the toilet seat is chick-pink," Dean continued his ranting from inside the bathroom.

"Dean, can the attitude," Bobby boomed. "Your brother here has a broken arm. How many times have you heard him complaining?"

"Why aren't you covered in head to toe, Bobby? You were rolling around in the same crap Sam and I were," Dean grumbled, still inside the bathroom.

"Immune to the stuff." Bobby walked over to stand by the door. "Hand me a cold cloth, boy."

A second later Dean was in the doorway, wet washcloth in one hand, tube of white cream in the other, fixing Sam with a worried look.

The kid's face was puckered in pain as he tried to get comfortable on the king-sized bed, scooting to the left, to the right, sitting forward, and leaning sideways only to finally jam himself back into the mound of pillows behind him.

"Sammy? How bad?" Dean asked his voice suddenly husky with worry.

"No worse– "Sam broke off with a strained yawn. "Than…than before," he finished, taking in a few shallow breaths.

Dean raised his eyes to Bobby.

"He's still really weak." Bobby walked over and snatched the dripping towel from Dean and moved over to the small cooler on the table near the window and pulled out a blue gel pack.

Dean stood silent, staring. Sam's hair was mussed, his face flushed, throat ringed with lavender bruises that matched the lavender circles under his exhausted eyes, and forehead pinched probably against a pounding headache.

Sam rubbed at his throat. "I'm okay, Dean," his voice a tiny mew. "But you won't be," he said, spying the tube of white stuff in Dean's hand. "If you put any of that cream on your –" Sam's eyes traveled downward.

Every muscle in Dean's body stiffened and he shifted from foot-to-foot uncomfortably glancing down. "Oh, son of a–" he suddenly wailed, dropping the tube to the carpet and dancing a jig, a pained expression on his face.

Sam grimaced. "Too late."

"What in tarnation is his problem now?" Bobby asked tiredly as he stepped up to Sam's bedside and gently laid the gel pack against the kid's throat.

Sam's eyes filled with gratitude, couldn't believe how wonderful that felt. He smiled up at Bobby. _Thank you. _

Bobby smiled back, patting Sam's shoulder, and then lightly placed the wet washcloth on his forehead. _Any time, boy._

Dean jumped up and down awkwardly. "Bitch," he moaned, eyes watering. "Bitch, bitch, bitch," he continued to rant and dance about.

Bobby's smile faded to a scowl as he turned to consult Dean. "Did you put that cream where I think you put that cream, idgit?"

"My sea of tranquility was itching," Dean gritted out his teeth. Tottering across the room like a bow legged cowboy coming off a long cattle drive, he crawled back into bed, drawing up the sheet.

"His sea of what?" Bobby looked wide-eyed at Sam.

"You know." Sam's voice trailed off.

Bobby got the point immediately. "You dumbass, Dean, you know what hangs out right there."

"Yeah, thanks, I know. Crap." Dean wormed around under the covers. "And now I itch and burn at the same friggin' time."

"Tried to warn you," Sam chirped.

Dean frowned at Sam. "What the hell is that white stuff anyway?"

"Preparation H," Sam laughed.

"It's not just for hemorrhoids anymore," Bobby chuckled nonstop. "Good for those puffy bags under the eyes, and a wrinkle cure too."

Dean studied the older hunter's face. "Right, because that's really helping your cause there, Bobby." He reached over and took the washcloth off Sam's forehead and brought it under the blankets with him. "Ahahaha," he moaned in obvious relief, his movements teeping the bedcovers.

Bobby glared at Dean like a Doberman who'd treed the annoying neighborhood cat. "Burns like the dickens don't it, kid." He grinned widely.

Dean continued to tackle whatever he was tackling under the covers, glaring at Bobby and rendered speechless.

"Good," Bobby said satisfactorily. "Now that we have that settled, I'm heading out for supplies. You two stay put." Bobby stormed off grabbing his keys and heading for the door. "And, Dean, give your brother back that washcloth right now."

"Fine." Dean pulled the cloth out from under the sheets and moved to place it back on Sam's head.

"Stay away from me with that thing," Sam snarled in disgust, turning his face into his pillow to escape.

Dean shrugged, the washcloth going back under the sheets. "Aw," he sighed some more.

"Knock it off you two. Me and ol' Ethel will be back in two shakes."

"Why'd you name your truck, Ethel?" Sam asked, groaning as he struggled to lift his casted arm to reach an itch on his good arm.

"Just keep still," Dean muttered to his brother, drawing a hand out from under the covers and reaching over to scratch the itch for him.

"Dean, I mean it. Don't touch me –"

"Shut up, Samantha." Dean scratched the itch.

"Uh, guh," Sam moaned unable to wiggle away, his forehead wrinkling from the pounding headache he sported.

"You boys are a pain in my ass," Bobby crossed back to the bathroom, stuffing the keys into his pocket as he went.

"Plenty of Preparation H left," Dean sniped sarcastically after him.

Bobby came out of the bathroom growling like an oversized bear.

"Right," Sam jumped in. "So, uh, who's Ethel, bobby?" he asked trying to change the subject quickly before Bobby ate Dean alive.

Bobby walked over to Sam's side of the bed, not taking his heated stare off Dean. "Ethel Merman. Gypsy Rose Lee, Hello Dolly, Annie Get Your Gun," he said, placing the fresh, cool cloth to youngster's forehead.

Sam sighed blissfully, closing his eyes.

"Welcome, kid," Bobby beamed down at him.

"Those all the chicks you slept with way back in the day?" Dear quirked, going back to doing whatever the hell it was he was doing with his washcloth under the sheets.

"Watch yourself, boy, respect the truck," Bobby warned. "Beats the hell out of naming her after some dirty dancer," Bobby grumbled in an ornery tone, hands on his hips.

"Hey," Dean pointed a finger at Bobby. "Swayze rules."

"So what would you have me name her?" Bobby barked.

"Chiquita banana, Old Yellower, Butter cup, Pac Man," Dean smirked, thinking of the old rusted-yellow pickup.

"Vincent Van Gogh," Sam suggested, eyes still closed, squirming against Dean trying to get at an itch on his back.

"Huh?" Bobby and Dean queried.

"Dutch artist, painted sunflowers representing life in its different stages," Sam smartly said, giving a little cough a shiver running down his spine, peeking open his eyes.

"Good one, Geek," Dean chuffed proudly.

"Thanks, Dean," Sam responded happily.

"You know what your two problems are?" Bobby asked.

"No what?" the boys asked together.

"You think too much," Bobby pointed at Sam. "And you think too little," he pointed at Dean looking ticked.

"Think we hurt his feelings," Sam whispered, wiggling against the mattress trying to get at an itch at the center of his back.

"I think you're right," Dean whispered back.

"Shutup, idgits," Bobby said peevishly. "Now listen up. Sam, you stay in bed," he ordered. "And you," he pointed a stern finger at Dean. "You stay on Sammy watch." Bobby did a military-styled about face. "I'll be back with the pink stuff." Bobby went to the door banged it open and banged it shut.

"Pink stuff?" Dean asked Sam.

"Calamine lotion," Sam took the washcloth off his forehead and tossed it on the floor, turning on his side to face away from Dean. Guh…my back itches." He fiddled about uncomfortably.

Dean reached a hand toward his brother's back.

"Don't touch me, Dean. I know where your hands have been."

"Fine."

"Fine." Sam closed his eyes.

A few minutes of silence ticked by.

"Sammy," Dean called.

"Mmmm," Sam mumbled sleepily.

"Can I put the pink stuff on my –"

"No." Sam shivered, scooting a little farther away from his brother. "Not unless you want your sea of tranquility to fall off. Now let me go to sleep, Dean."

"Just Peachy." Dean grumbled hitching himself up onto one elbow so that he could peer over at his brother.

It didn't take but a minute, before Sam's breathing softened and his muscles totally relaxed, his neck sinking deeper into his pillows.

"Sam?" Dean whispered.

Sam didn't answer. Didn't move.

"Hey, bro?" Dean called again a bit louder.

Nothing. Not an eye flutter or a twitch. Kid was sound asleep.

Scooting a tad closer, Dean examined Sam's face. His skin still held an edge of white too it, but his lips were pink and his expression was smooth.

"Rest easy, bitch," Dean cooed.

Sam flashed a brief reflexive smile in his sleep. The exact same way Dean remembered his baby brother smiling in his sleep when he was just two months old –all sweet and dreamy and full of precious innocence.

Dean felt all warm inside as he rested a gentle hand on his brother's side, feeling the rise and fall of Sam's breathing. Satisfied the kid's respirations were normal and calm and slow he whispered ever so quietly, "I'm watching out for you, Sammy."

Sam gave an opened mouthed smile this time, still obviously sound asleep.

Dean lay back down on his own pillow. "You better not have gas, dude."

The end.

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